


Wendig-Oh-No!

by MalMuses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bedsharing, Camping, Clumsy Castiel, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Human Castiel, Hunter Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Like so minor its barely there, M/M, Miscommunication, Sharing Body Heat, Wendigo, very minor angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16526018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses
Summary: Of all the things that Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, expected to become as a human, being clumsy was never one of them.When Sam catches the flu, Dean is forced to team up with Cas on a Wendigo hunt in snowy northern Minnesota.It goes terribly.Or does it?





	Wendig-Oh-No!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the [2018 SPN Reverse Bang.](https://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/)
> 
> I was lucky enough to be able to claim [smudgythoughts/harplesscastiel](http://harplesscastiel.tumblr.com)'s adorable piece! I had a great time working with you and revealing the story behind this lovely work of art.
> 
> Thanks also go to my awesome betas,[ andimeantittosting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting) and [captainbunnicula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kradarua).
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and make sure to stop by and give harplesscastiel some love on her art masterpost, [here!](http://harplesscastiel.tumblr.com/post/179802021920/my-art-for-the-spn-reverse-bang-fic-wendig-oh-no)
> 
> Mal <3

 

 

 

 

 

Of all the things that Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, expected to become as a human, this was never one of them. There were many questions about what he could be now that he no longer had any grace. Would he be a tea person or a coffee person? Would he understand Dean’s crappy TV shows now, or would he want to watch documentaries with Sam? Castiel expected to be disoriented. He expected to be a bit weird, to start with. Of all the things Castiel had anticipated, however, he never expected to be _clumsy._

He was used to being able to tell his vessel exactly what he needed it to do. He didn’t even think about it really; the muscles expanded and contracted to the exacting standards he requested, giving him superior reflexes, startling stamina and exquisite refinement of movement. That was before. The former garrison leader realized those days were over the first time he saw the expression on Dean Winchester’s face as he somehow tripped over nothing, fumbling a plate of scrambled eggs and landing in an undignified heap on the bunker floor.

The laughter had made him bristle. It was simply not right, for an angel to be a laughingstock. But he’d take the snickering ten times over, he discovered, rather than endure the concern. Dean suddenly treated him like he was incapable of the smallest things. Dean checked up on him constantly, crowding worriedly into his space at the tiniest bump or fall, and was ready with band-aids and Tylenol at the drop of a hat, like an unfairly attractive, maddening boy scout.

Castiel didn’t like it at all.

“Cas, hold _still,_ ” Dean grumbled, carefully guiding the large band-aid onto the side of Castiel’s hand, where the rogue kitchen knife had fought with the pad of flesh beneath his pinkie. “How’d you do this anyway? Knife juggling?”

Castiel mumbled.

“What?” Dean glared a little, yanking Castiel’s hand out flat.

Castiel sighed. “I was cutting Sam’s bagel in half,” he admitted. “I slipped.”

“Of course you did.” Dean rolled his eyes in that way that now so deeply bothered Castiel. “Well, here’s a tip, next time use a bread knife, not a paring knife—and try not to feed Sam chunks of ex-angel.”

The band-aid in place, Castiel withdrew his hand sulkily from Dean and started back across the kitchen.

“You’re welcome,” Dean muttered sarcastically, pulling a face as he packed up the small first aid kit they kept in the cupboard next to the stove.

“Thank you,” Castiel forced out, through gritted teeth.

Heading back toward the sink where he’d dropped the errant knife in shock, Castiel let out a sharp, involuntary hiss as his hip smacked into the side of the kitchen table.

Silence, for just a moment. Then…

“You alright over there?”

“Fine,” Castiel snapped, biting his lip.

“You sure? That sounded like it hurt.”

“I said I’m _fine,_ ” Cas grumbled, shoving his way toward the sink and ignoring the sharp sting on his hip bone.

The muffled snort made him turn around. Was Dean _laughing_ at him?

Dean’s face looked mostly confused and concerned; it was Sam that was laughing. Staggering into the kitchen door, hands full of Kleenex, he emitted a snotty chuckle.

“Your spatial awareness is second to none, Cas,” Sam grinned, feebly. “Were you this clumsy when you could fly?”

Sam was saved from Castiel’s ire by Dean’s horrified interruption. “Sam, what is wrong with you? You look disgusting.”

Sam raised an indignant eyebrow. “Jerk. I just have a cold.” Reaching up to mop at his sweating brow, Dean’s heavy gaze on him wasn’t subtle. “Alright. Maybe a touch of the flu.”

“And you were planning on telling us _when,_ bitch _?”_ Dean snapped, backing away from Sam dramatically. “When we got to Minnesota, or when the Wendigo tracked you by snot alone?”

Dean looked revolted, wanting to put as much space as he could between himself and Sam, though Castiel could see his hands twitching as if he desperately wanted to check his little brother’s temperature already.

“I’m fine,” Sam protested, swaying slightly.

“Even my paltry human senses can tell you’re lying, Sam,” Castiel pointed out dryly, shuffling the now-toasted bagel onto a plate. “Here,” he offered, waving the breakfast toward Sam at arm's length.

“Thanks, buddy,” Sam said, sniffing snottily.

“Dean and I will have to hunt alone this time,” Castiel noted simply. “You’re in no fit state to go anywhere.”

Sam nodded regretfully, but Dean made a vague sputtering sound of protest.

“Great, great. So I’m expected to track a Wendigo across Koochiching State Forest with just the klutz for help. Just fantastic,” Dean responded to no one in particular as he stomped off toward the garage.

Castiel was left staring at his feet angrily, almost forgetting Sam was there.

“It’s only because he cares, you know,” Sam offered thickly, before turning to shuffle back to his bedroom. “He worries about you even more now.”

They kept saying that, Castiel thought, but it certainly didn’t feel like it. Being human was far more difficult than it seemed. According to Dean, he was _always_ doing something wrong. Once, he’d been the Winchester’s greatest ally, fearsome in battle and their best resource for all things holy and unholy alike. Now he couldn’t even make a bagel.

 

***

 

The drive to Minnesota was, unfortunately, very long. Dean loved driving, but it was definitely more difficult to drive long distances with Cas than it used to be. He asked questions now, had opinions on the music, needed restroom breaks. He was so very human it almost hurt to look at him.

Not that Dean minded that Cas was human, not at all. In fact, it opened up possibilities and led his thoughts in directions that he’d simply not allowed them to go before. But it made him so much more fragile. It’d been hard enough to keep Cas alive as an angel; how was Dean supposed to manage now?

He knew he was grumpy, most of the ride. What he didn’t know was why Cas wouldn’t just shut up and leave him to it.

“Did you know that there are over 10,000 lakes in Minnesota?” Cas said as he peered out of the side window, as if hoping to see one, despite the fact they were still in South Dakota.

“Yes. Please try not to drown in one.”

“You’re being rude, Dean,” Cas scowled, turning his gaze from the road to the side of Dean’s face in the driver’s seat. “I’m not going to drown.”

Dean ignored the look, focused on the tarmac out in front. “Can you even swim?”

“I—” Cas’s gazed dropped. “I don’t know. Jimmy could swim.” He frowned, and turned his attention away from Dean once more, gazing out at the passing trees.

Dean sighed but managed to keep it on the inside. “How do you not _know_ if you can swim?” he asked, keeping his voice as calm as possible.

He must not have done a very good job, because Cas folded his arms across his chest and pouted. He remained watching the trees, though after a long enough pause, he did finally respond.

“I don’t know because I’ve never tried. Is that really so hard to understand?” he snapped, but his voice lacked any real anger. Rather, he sounded sad.

Dean bit his lip. He knew he was being a dick. Totally aware of it. But didn’t Cas _know_ how much he and Sam worried about him? How scary it was to see your formidable, badass best friend be reduced to someone that you’d had to teach how to shave?

Dean let out a long sigh, rubbing one hand over his face in defeat. He needed to try harder.

“I could teach you, Cas.” Dean offered quietly, trying to make up for being an ass the only way he knew. “If you wanted. I could show you. I’m sure you’d get it just fine.”

Cas’s gaze was piercing. “And what if I didn’t, Dean? What if I needed time to learn, like any other human? What then?” The accusation wasn’t explicit, but it was there.

Dean winced. Okay, he deserved that.

“Then—” Dean managed to turn his eyes from the road for just long enough to catch Cas’s. “Then I guess I’d have to learn to be patient.”

That seemed to appease Cas for now, and they managed another hundred miles in fairly comfortable silence. At that point, Dean pulled over into the parking lot of a rough-looking motel.

“We’re almost at the Minnesota border,” Dean commented, cutting Baby’s engine. “I can’t go any further today. We can get up early and drive the last little bit when we’re more rested, hopefully get a jump on that Wendigo.”

Cas nodded, reaching to open his door. “You could just let me drive,” he commented, but clearly he knew it was fruitless, as he was already standing and moving toward the trunk to grab their duffle bags.

Dean knew Cas could drive. Of course he did. But it’s not like the angel had a real license. He didn’t bother fighting though and headed off to pay for a room instead.

To make Dean’s day just that little bit better, the motel was out of twin rooms.

“You want two doubles?” the husky woman in a trucker cap asked, smacking her gum.

Dean sighed. He shouldn’t waste the money. He’d done this plenty of times with Sam, after all. “No. One double is fine,” he said, smiling as politely as he could muster.

Cas didn’t take the news as well as he’d hoped.

“We have to share a bed,” he repeated blankly when Dean handed him the room key and updated him on the situation. Cas folded his arms, his brow lowering thunderously. “No, no. It’s fine. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Cas,” Dean frowned. “What the hell? I don’t bite, man. I might steal the covers a little, but at least I don’t get gas like Sammy.”

“That’s not—” Castiel snapped his jaw shut, fighting with the lock on the cheap motel door and finally shoving it open with a crash. “That’s not _it_ , Dean.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, stepping into the room behind him and closing the door gingerly, concerned that the ex-angel had broken it.

“What’s your deal, then?” Dean asked, folding his arms. “Because sleeping on the floor when there’s room for both of us is ridiculous. Besides,” Dean gestured downward to the uneven brown carpet. “Have you _seen_ the floor?”

Cas looked down and couldn’t help wrinkling his nose a little before he responded, “I’d rather sleep in the dirt than have you get mad at me for yet another thing I can’t help.” He sighed after a second. “And if we had to share the bed,” Cas continued, “I’m sure I’d do _something_ wrong, cross some line I didn’t know about. I always do.”

“That’s not true,” Dean said as he sat down heavily on the end of the bed. “Look, Cas. I know I’ve been hard on you, but—”

“Yes, you have.” Castiel interrupted roughly, grabbing his duffle and turning his back on Dean to enter the bathroom. He slammed the door.

By the time he shuffled back out, wrapped in a towel with his clothes under his arm, Dean felt a little bad. By the time Dean was done with his own shower and emerged to see Cas curled on his side on the bed in pajama pants but his chest bare, Dean felt terrible.

Somehow, Cas looked so much smaller than when he was an angel. He wasn’t, Dean was well aware. He could see the coiled muscle that Jimmy had left him with, the strong shoulders and thick thighs that filled out his six-foot frame. In fact, Dean probably spent way too much time thinking about the way his friend looked, now. Cas was far from small. But Dean still felt the need to protect him.

“What’re you watchin’?” Dean asked quietly, settling onto the other side of the mattress and gesturing to the quietly murmuring TV.

“Nothing you’d want to watch, I’m sure,” Cas replied grumpily, groping around on the nightstand for the remote.

“So?” Dean replied, shrugging. “If you want to watch it, I’ll get over it.”

Cas turned his head, looking back over his shoulder at Dean with a faint hint of disbelief. “Really?” he questioned, though it came out flat, more like a statement.

“Yes, really.” Dean scowled. “Damn Cas, I’m not that bad. You watch what you want.” Dean rolled onto his side, away from Castiel, and sulked into his pillow.

Ten minutes or so passed, and Dean felt the mattress move as Cas shuffled forward to turn off the ocean documentary he’d been watching. He heard the blankets rustle as Cas let out a small shiver, nestling down under them while Dean remained on top of them on his side.

The room held the same chill that most places did during November this far north. The crappy motel didn’t exactly have the heat up, and so Dean soon got over himself and tucked his legs in alongside Cas, leaving plenty of space between them. He didn’t want to make Cas any more uncomfortable than he obviously already was.

Under the blanket, he could sense the occasional shiver still coming off of Cas.

“Put a t-shirt on if you’re cold,” Dean muttered sleepily into his pillow, rolling over onto his other side. Facing the middle of the bed, he could see how Cas had the bedding tucked firmly around himself, his shoulders hunched.

“I don’t have any spare ones,” Cas responded. “Sam took me to the store when I first came back to the bunker, but I only have a handful of shirts. I try to keep them for the daytime.”

Dean was fairly sure that the tone Cas was going for was exasperated and sulky, but instead he just sounded miserable.

Feeling pretty crappy about himself and how he’d dealt with the sudden humanity of his fallen angel best friend, Dean warred with himself for a minute over how to respond.

“Being human hasn’t been much fun for you, huh?” he eventually settled for.

Cas rolled over, facing Dean as he responded, though Dean could barely see him over the bundle of sheets he had tucked into his neck. “No. Honestly, it hasn’t,” Cas admitted quietly, his voice wavering as he tried, but failed, to conceal the emotion he obviously felt.

Dean froze. Cas sounded practically tearful and he had no frame of reference for how to deal with it. He balled his fists, fighting the urge to reach over and pull Cas into his arms. Cas wouldn't want that, he knew. But… perhaps he could warm him up. If it was the closest Dean would ever get to what he wanted, he'd take it now, before Cas inevitably left.

“Hey, uh—” Dean lifted an arm, using his other hand to reach over for Cas’s shoulder. “C’mere. I’m plenty warm. And I—” Dean dropped his gaze down into the pillows, where he wouldn’t have to see Cas’s reaction. “I’m sorry. I just—” he swallowed. “It’s been hard, Cas.”

Cas’s voice was incredulous and he made no immediate effort to move into Dean’s warmth. “It’s been hard? For you? Are you really _that_ selfish, Dean?”

Dean grimaced. “Yeah. I guess—I guess I have been. I didn’t mean it that way, but I know how it seems.”

“So how did you mean it, if not to belittle me and make me feel less than you at every turn?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dean grumbled into the pillow, “You don’t need me to explain that dude. You know.”

Cas pushed up on his elbow, the sheet falling away from his shoulder to reveal his cold, bare chest as he glared down at Dean. “Apparently I do need you to explain it, Dean,” he replied testily. “Because to me, it just looks like you’re being an ass.”

Dean groaned, keeping his eyes shut and turning his face into the pillow. The fabric muffled his speech, but he still responded, “I _worry_ about you, Cas. Is it that hard to understand? You were this—” Dean struggled for words. “This fantastical, untouchable being. Even then you’d get hurt, you’d die sometimes, and you’d never stay, you still—and now…” Dean sighed, pulling his head out of the pillow to finally look up at Cas again. “Now you’re human and I have so many more things to worry about. I just want to keep you _safe_ , Cas. I just want you to learn everything you can so that this time when you leave—” Dean’s voice cracked a little. “Hell, I just worry about you,” he repeated finally, slumping back into the pillow.

“Why?”

Dean looked up, to see Cas regarding him with a tilt to his head. “What? What do you mean, why? Jesus, Cas, because I care about you, of course. What kind of question is that?” Dean spluttered, frustrated.

Wordlessly, Dean raised his arm back up, trying to encourage Castiel to snuggle up and share warmth without making it too awkward.

Cas watched him for a minute, until another shiver went through him. Slowly, he lowered himself back down to the pillows, shuffling up to Dean’s warm side. “I’m sorry I’m so bad at this, Dean. I don’t mean to worry you,” he murmured quietly into the fabric of Dean’s shirt.

Once Cas had settled into his ribs, his head resting on Dean’s arm, Dean slowly dropped his head to rest on the top of Cas’s wild, dark hair. “I’m sorry I’m bad at it too,” he murmured into the clean strands, still slightly damp from Cas’s recent shower.

Seemingly better at some things than Dean at least, Cas reached across to wrap his arm around Dean, cuddling in close, disregarding how fast Dean’s heart was beating.

Dean froze, afraid to enjoy the closeness without it meaning what he really wanted. He only relaxed, fraction by fraction, when he heard tiny snores coming from his chest level.

 

***

 

“Cas! Cas, where are you?!”

Castiel knew that it was dangerous to answer. Answering a call like that was the worst thing you could do, on a Wendigo hunt. This particular creature was smart and had somehow managed to separate him and Dean.

Keeping as silent as he could, Castiel pressed back against the tree he hid behind, unlit torch ready in hand. Wendigos were irritating to hunt; no simple bullet or knife would do the trick—you had to burn the suckers… and things took time to die that way.

“Cas! I got ‘im, come on!”

Castiel pressed back further into the trunk. Dean, the real Dean, would expect Castiel to know better than to respond when they were dealing with a creature who could mimic voices as well as a Wendigo.

Castiel listened carefully, paying attention to every crinkle of leaves, every snap of a twig, every heavy plop or crunch of snow. He breathed out slowly. Everything was silent.

The hunt had started well. The Wendigo had left quite a trail, its haste to prepare a pantry of flesh ready for the depths of winter making it rash and easy to track. Near perfect hunters and smart as hell, Wendigos could be a handful—as this one had turned out to be.

A loud scream split the air. A deep, rough scream that Castiel would always recognize.

Before he had time to process his own thoughts, Castiel’s legs were pumping madly as he flew through the snowy forest toward the scream.

“Dean!”

The blood splattered across the snow was a sight to make his human stomach churn. High on an ancient pine, six bodies hung. He and Dean may have finally found the beast, but it was already too late for the two park rangers, a hiking couple, and two other unidentified individuals. Castiel tried desperately to wade through the snow and get close enough to the tree to make sure that one of the two wasn’t Dean.

“Dean!” Castiel called out again, despite knowing that the real Dean was unlikely to answer.

A hiss behind Castiel made him turn. There was the Wendigo, eyeing him curiously as so many beasts did, despite Castiel having lost his grace. Castiel ran, pounding flat out as much as he could in the thick jeans and winter coat he was decked out in.

Castiel hated the cold.

He ran along the edge of a powerfully churning creek that fed the lake nearly a mile away, following a set of bloody footprints that he was hoping—praying—would lead him to Dean. The creature was far faster than he was, but Castiel darted left and right, trying to throw it off.

Ahead, he finally saw Dean, bent over against a rock. He was bleeding, but upright, and for now that was all Castiel had time to be grateful for.

“Dean!” he screamed again, sensing the Wendigo bounding closer and closer behind him.

Dean’s head snapped up at Castiel’s voice, though he didn’t immediately respond—of course. But then he saw Castiel and the creature bounding after him, and knew that the voice was real.

“Cas!” Dean reached down to the side of the rock he leaned on, picking up and lighting his torch in one smooth motion. “Cas!” he yelled again, to make sure he had his attention. “MOVE!”

Dean came barreling straight for him. Castiel knew well enough to obey Dean’s hastily shouted command without question; he himself had hurled and barked orders like that many times in battle. However, Dean had neglected to give him any indication of which direction he should move.

With a misplaced step, a squelch of snow, and an unmanly screech, Castiel’s feet slid out from under him and he tumbled to the side.

The next few seconds happened in slow motion for Castiel.

He saw Dean hurling himself bodily at the Wendigo, torch in hand. He saw the flame arc toward the creature’s body, just as it brought an arm around, bringing a fistful of sharp claws to crack against the side of Dean’s face.

He saw Dean’s eyes slide to him, instead of the Wendigo. Dean’s lips formed a small ‘O’ of horror before he began to yell Castiel’s name. The word was cut off, the Wendigo taking advantage of the distraction to fully land another swat to Dean’s side.

There was an unearthly roar—Castiel wasn’t even sure if it came from the Wendigo or from Dean.

A rush of flame, a spray of blood. And at the same time, a sickening crack as the ice Castiel had landed on gave way.

Crying out in fear—not for himself, but for Dean—Castiel was enveloped by the black, icy creek.

 

***

 

Dean’s lungs burned from the smoke of the dead Wendigo, the icy air, and the exertion of running along the side of the creek. He followed the flashes of dark green from Cas’s winter jacket that peeked out above the churning water, racing to keep pace as he was washed down toward the lake.

“Cas!” It was Dean’s turn to be screaming, yelling his name over and over despite his agonized breathing.

Either Dean’s hope that Cas would remember how to swim from Jimmy was wrong, or the cold had already pulled him from consciousness. Cas’s form was unmoving as it tumbled through the water.

Where the creek met the lake, the water slowed. Heedless of the danger to himself, Dean dived in.

The water hit Dean like a thousand small knives, seeping icily through the cracks in his clothing and slicing into his skin sharply, like a physical blow to his nerves. Gritting his teeth, he forced his arms and legs into compliance; a few seconds was all he needed—grab Cas, and out.

The forming bruise on Dean's temple and the open slashes on his side burned with agony at the cold.

He chanted it like a mantra through the icy water.

_Grab Cas and out, grab Cas and out._

Reaching Cas quickly, Dean seized a fistful of the soaked coat and hauled, dragging Cas toward the edge with his teeth chattering. Pushing Cas up onto the shore of the lake, Dean followed, immediately crashing to his knees next to him to check for breathing.

“Jesus Christ, Cas,” Dean panted, dripping even more water all over Cas as he leaned down. His chest vibrated with relief when he felt Cas’s stuttering breath hit his cheek.

It took a few sharp slaps to bring Cas mostly back to consciousness. Dean’s focus wasn’t on the glare he got in return or even Cas’s disorientation. Instead, he looped his arm under Cas’s shoulders and focused on finding the nearest warm shelter. He hadn’t saved Cas from drowning only to lose him to hypothermia, after all.

The area the Wendigo had set itself up in was sparsely populated, but each of the nearby lakes had picturesque cabins and holiday lodges nearby. The creature did, after all, need to feed—something that would prove advantageous now that Dean and Cas desperately needed shelter.

Luckily, having been washed down to the lake, Dean could see a cabin nearby—it looked old, abandoned, and (if they were particularly lucky) unlocked. Dean hauled Cas alongside him, supporting the ex-angel with one hand around his waist, the other hand clasped to his own bleeding side.

They made a pathetic pair, but they were alive and the Wendigo wasn’t, so Dean figured that had to be a win overall.

Reaching the cabin, Dean shoved his shoulder into the door. It was, technically, locked; but the door was so old it simply splintered around the locked handle and admitted them anyway. Dean staggered them both inside, easing Cas down so he sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, his arms wrapped around his knees as his teeth chattered.

“Alright, Cas,” Dean’s voice was tight with tension but he tried to keep it as calm as possible. “I’m gonna build this fire up and you need to get out of your wet clothes.”

Looking around the simple, one-room cabin, Dean saw a neatly made bed against the wall and an old cook stove that he prayed was functional.

Cas shivered, wordlessly. He hadn’t spoken since Dean had pulled him from the water, but Dean had more pressing concerns than whether Cas felt chatty.

Moving over to the bed, he pulled off the thickest blanket and shoved it at Cas. “Here, strip off and wrap up,” he instructed.

The fire, in proper cabin tradition, was already prepared. Dean stepped up to it and felt around on the mantle, looking for matches in the dim cabin light. Finding them, he smiled in satisfaction and crouched down, going through three or four before he could get one lit enough to give life to the fire. Shivering himself, he then moved back to the bed, stripping off the smaller blanket.

“Cas?” Dean turned, kneeling down next to him. “Buddy?” he tried again.

Cas’s eyes rose slowly up to him.

“You need to get out of your clothes, Cas. So do I, but you’re even wetter than I am,” Dean said, unzipping his outer coat and dumping it on the floor with a squelch. He wasn’t anywhere near as wet underneath. Grabbing the smaller blanket, he wrapped it tight around himself.

“Cas?” he tried again. “This lake is less than half a mile from the road; we passed the turning for this lake on the way here. I’m gonna go and head back up to where we left Baby, okay? I’ll bring her here, so we have warm clothes and supplies.”

Dean frowned, wondering if Cas was in shock. “Cas, you’re scaring me. Say something.”

Cas rubbed his lips together as if trying to warm enough life into them to speak. “Cold,” he muttered.

Relieved, Dean nodded. “I know, buddy. I know,” he soothed, still a little panicked despite Cas’s apparent lucidity. “Come on. You’ll feel better with the wet clothes off at least,” he said, reaching forward to unzip Cas’s coat.

The thick winter outerwear they’d been sure to bring to Minnesota with them came off easily, but getting a stoic, silent Cas out of his undershirt and pants took longer. Dean was patient throughout, cajoling gently, far more concerned whether Cas was already suffering from symptoms of hypothermia than whether he’d be embarrassed at Dean stripping him down to his underwear.

Cas shuddered violently, still silent.

Frowning, Dean tucked the blanket around Cas tightly and shimmied him as close to the fire as he dared.

“Cas,” Dean tried once more, worried, holding his own blanket around his shoulders with one hand as he crouched. “I need you to try _everything_ to get warm, okay? Rub your hands and feet, take your underwear off when I leave, wrap up tight in the dry blanket,” he advised, his voice wavering with concern. “If you’re still like this when I get back with the car, then I’m taking you to the nearest hospital. No arguments.”

“Go… ‘m fine,” Cas muttered, but his words were slurred.

Dean knew he should hurry before he ended up in the same position as Cas and couldn’t help either of them.

With one final squeeze of Cas’s shoulder, Dean ducked out into the thin late-afternoon light to begin following the snowy trail back to the road.

 

***

 

Castiel was angry at himself. Or at his body, at least. Why couldn’t this thing just do what he wanted it to do? Why did it have to embarrass him, let him down? And why always in front of Dean?

He sighed, trying his best to move his hands and feet as Dean had instructed. He stayed seated on the rug, as close to the fire as he could get.

He’d let Dean down, again. Sourly, Castiel remembered that Dean hadn’t wanted to bring “the klutz” on this hunt in the first place. Dean had finished off the Wendigo by himself after he’d fallen through the ice, so it seemed he hadn’t really been needed anyway. He’d been more trouble than help.

Castiel felt like a burden, and he hated it with a passion.

Once, he’d harbored silly fantasies that perhaps, now that he was human, Dean might one day see him differently. That he might return all the feelings Castiel had repressed for so many years, even before he knew the extent of what they were. It was laughable, now. Dean treated him like a child, and often, Castiel thought he deserved it.

Dean had always thought he was a baby in a trenchcoat, after all. Now he was just more overt about it.

Miserable, Castiel tightened the blanket and did his best to stop shivering, but as usual, his human body refused to listen to what he wanted.

Castiel wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he heard the familiar purr of the Impala’s engine outside. He heard the driver’s door slam, and then the trunk very quickly open and close; Dean was rushing. He probably thought Castiel wasn’t safe alone, Castiel realized glumly. Dean was probably right.

Dean burst through the door, laden down with supplies from the car: both of their duffle bags, extra blankets, a large first aid kit, and the cooler of food they kept in the back seat.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said as he dropped the items down, coming straight to Castiel’s side.”How’s it going? Any warmer?”

Dean’s hands came out to rub roughly at Castiel’s biceps and back through the blanket.

Castiel searched Dean’s face for anger, but at least for now, he found only concern there. “A little warmer,” Cas forced out through his numb lips. “Drier, anyway.”

Dean’s frown deepened. “Well, let’s get you dressed in some dry clothes and layer up with a few more blankets,” he suggested. “I’m going to see if I can get that old stove over there working,” Dean jerked his head back over his shoulder, indicating the cabin kitchen, “and see if I can make you some of that tea you like. Sam put some tea bags in with the food in the cooler,” he explained, moving Castiel’s duffle towards him so that he could dig out his clean clothes.

Castiel slowly dressed while Dean changed into a dry shirt and jeans, bandaged his own minor wounds, and tinkered with the stove to warm water for tea. Castiel's fingers still wouldn’t cooperate properly, but he didn’t want to ask Dean for help. So, stubbornly, he fought the fabric himself.

After a few minutes, Castiel realized that Dean was silent. He stood near the stove, holding Castiel’s tea and watching him without saying a word. He was frowning.

Castiel squared his shoulders. Now that he was beginning to recover and Dean’s initial panic had faded, the anger would come, Castiel figured. Anger at how he’d messed up, done something wrong, been a klutz and a hindrance, again.

Dean walked over quietly, and Castiel dropped his eyes to the floor. With only a small wince as his side creased, Dean knelt before Castiel, who still sat on the floor in front of the fire.

Slowly, Dean pried the sock that he was struggling with from him, and pressed the hot tea into his hands. “Here, Cas. Get your hands around this; it’ll make your fingers feel better,” he suggested, not meeting Castiel’s gaze. Reaching across, he rolled Castiel’s sock onto his foot. Kneeling on the floor in front of him, Dean didn’t get back up. He stayed in place, frowning at the frayed old rug beneath Castiel’s feet.

Castiel’s shoulders deflated, and he sighed softly. He just didn’t have the energy to fight. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he murmured into the cup.

Dean blinked up at him, shaking his head as he spoke. “You’re sorry? Cas, _I’m_ sorry.” Dean gestured down at the sock Castiel had been fighting with. “You should have just asked for help. But I know why you didn’t, how you assumed I’d react. And I’m sorry.”

Castiel reached forward, out of his blanket, clutching one hand around Dean’s shoulder. “No, Dean,” he responded miserably. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I messed up, again. I was upset before, when you’d always mention teaching me things so I’d know what to do ‘when I leave’. It hurt to hear. But I understand now how much of a burden I am to you and I’m sorry. I never wanted that,” Castiel had more to say, but his chattering teeth cut him off.

“Cas,” Dean admonished, sounding suddenly stricken. “Jesus Cas, you don’t think I _wanted_  you to leave, do you?” He shook his head firmly, ducking down to try and catch Castiel’s gaze. “No. I never wanted you to leave. I still don’t. I just assumed that you would because that’s what you always do… and you’re not a _burden,_ okay?” Dean spat out the word as if it offended him.

“But, you—” Cas began, only to be swiftly cut off by Dean.

“I know, dude. I know. I—fuck.” Dean sighed, sitting back on the rug and crossing his legs. He balanced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands.

“Dean?” Cas asked, confused. He finally dropped his hand from Dean’s shoulder, retreating back into the warmth of the blanket.

“I really fucked things up, Cas,” Dean explained to the rug after a few moments. “You being human, it scares me. I’m so fucking scared to lose you. I don’t think you’re incapable of looking after yourself. I think you’re capable of anything.” He laughed slightly, but it was a broken sound. “And you don’t need me for any of it. I’m the one that’ll be a mess when you leave, Cas. You don’t need me, but I do kinda need you. In my way,” he admitted, roughly.

Castiel couldn’t think of what to say, desperately trying to straighten out in his mind what Dean had actually said from what he desperately wished to hear. Trying to make sure he was hearing Dean’s words, not his own wishes.

“Hey,” Dean said softly after a moment, bringing his hands up to the mug of tea that Castiel currently held and nudging it gently up towards his lips, “drink some tea, okay. You gotta get warm. Didn’t I just say I can’t lose you?” He chuckled, nervously.  

Castiel obediently took a sip of the warm tea, though he barely tasted it. “Dean.” He leaned to the side slightly, lowering the mug to the floor. There was one point he found he desperately needed to clarify, cold or not. Looking back up, he finally met Dean’s gaze. “Dean, I don’t want to leave. I never did. Not even before… sometimes I had to. Heaven, or some other mission always required it. But I never wanted to. I thought you wanted me to go,” Castiel admitted, the words twisting in his gut even as he said them. “When I wasn’t useful, why would you want me? Why now? I’m...” Castiel trailed off, gesturing down at his slowly warming human form. “Useless,” he finished.

“Cas, no.” There was an edge of frustration to Dean’s voice, but this time it seemed to be in Castiel’s defense rather than admonishment. “Don’t think that. That’s my fault for never telling you the truth.” Dean shook his head, looking disgusted. “I suck at expressing this shit. But Cas, you are _not_ useless,” he affirmed, looking at Castiel head on. “You’re fierce, and funny, and a shit ton smarter than I am. You care about people and you have all that angelic passion and fire; even now as a human, you still do. You’re not useless Cas. You make _me_ feel useless.” Dean laughed. “Even now you’re human, there’s still nothing I can really do to protect you, and protecting people is all I know how to do.”

“But I’m a klutz,” Castiel burst out, before he could stop himself.

“Yeah?” Dean sounded confused. “And Sam’s a princess ex-blood junkie, and I’m an emotionally-constipated asshole of an ex-demon. Welcome to the family. We’re not perfect, Cas. Being a clumsy ex-angel hardly makes you the biggest liability around, does it?”  

Unsure what to say, Castiel grabbed his tea, gulping down a few more hot sips.

“I do want you to stay,” Dean murmured after a moment.

He spoke so quietly, Castiel wasn’t sure if he’d really wanted him to hear.

Lowering the tea mug once more, Castiel shifted his weight, awkwardly rearranging his blanket around him, to give him something to focus on while he asked, “Why? Why do you want me to stay? You don’t need me, Dean.”

Dean sighed, looking up at Castiel once more, his brow furrowed. “Didn’t I just tell you I did?”

Cas flushed, concentrating on his blanket. “I wasn’t sure if I was interpreting you correctly,” he admitted. “There’s—there might be a difference between what you mean and what I want you to mean,” he clarified.

Castiel began to stretch out his stiff, icy limbs, relieved to finally feel warm blood flowing back into them. He couldn’t look at Dean; he could do anything else, but not look at him.

But Dean’s hands came forward, one to each shoulder. Slowly, as if trying to work out if he was crossing any boundaries he shouldn’t, Dean rubbed up and down the tops of Castiel’s arms. The gesture was warming, and the motion sent pins and needles shooting into Castiel’s hands; uncomfortable, but a relief to feel.

“M-maybe we shouldn’t talk about this right now,” Dean stammered after a moment. “You were in shock, you might not be…” he trailed off.

Castiel thought he detected a slight blush on the other man’s cheeks. “I’m perfectly lucid, Dean,” he clarified softly. Somewhere beneath the cold and shivers that were steadily receding, Castiel felt his heart lift hopefully. “Don’t be afraid,” he added quietly.

Dean looked up, meeting his look. “You mean—” Dean moistened his lip nervously. “You want to stay? Even though I’ve been an ass this whole time?”

Castiel nodded slowly. He moved slightly into Dean’s space, pressing his weight against the hands that still hovered nervously on his arms. “I want to stay—with you. If that’s what you want. I didn’t realize that—” Castiel picked his words carefully, not wanting to presume. “—that you wanted me safe because you were afraid to lose me. I thought it was because you considered me unable to take care of myself.”

For a moment Dean looked lost, and Castiel began to automatically sort through the conversation in his mind, trying to work out where he'd gone wrong. His thoughts stilled and cut short when Dean mirrored his slight lean forward, until their foreheads rested together. Castiel still had a blanket around him, and they sat knee-to-knee, cross-legged on the carpet, Dean still idly rubbing at Castiel's arms as if he'd simply forgotten to stop.

“My arms are warm now,” Castiel responded dumbly after a moment, still too unsure to test the waters any further.

“Oh.” Dean blinked, and his hands shrunk back. “Good that you feel better. Sorry.”

“No, don't be,” Castiel blurted, suddenly, desperately. He regretted the loss of contact immediately, and his hands darted forward out of the blanket. Finding himself shyer than he'd ever been about a simple touch, he grasped at Dean's hands as they retreated. With a flush he was well aware of, Castiel entwined their fingers. “I liked it,” he finished very quietly.

For a moment, Dean simply stared down in astonishment at their linked hands. Then, very slowly, he tilted his face, leaning in to Castiel. Just before their lips would have met, Dean's breath caught.

“Cas,” Dean breathed into his space, an audible shake to his voice, “please tell me if I'm reading this right, because if I'm not—”

“Please just kiss me, Dean,” Castiel gulped out.

A clear instruction was exactly what Dean needed. “Okay,” he let out the words slowly. “I just wanted to make sure, y'know…”

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel intoned solemnly, though his eyes were anything but serious. “You have my express consent to kiss me. I've wanted you to for years. Please just get on with it.”

Dean laughed, still pressed up against Castiel’s forehead. He let go of one of his hands, bringing it up to cup very slowly at Castiel's jaw. His thumb trailed across the ex-angel's jawbone for a moment, Dean drowning in his eyes like he was trying to savor every second. “Okay Cas,” he responded shakily. “I'm going to kiss you now.”

Castiel met him halfway, their lips pressing together in the scant space between them. It was soft, slow and cautious. An audible exhale came from Dean as their heads tilted, settling into a familiar but new position. Castiel's lips were ice cold, and Dean's felt like liquid fire against them. Their mouths fit together naturally, escalating their first chaste, pillowy meeting, peck by peck, touch by touch, into something bigger.

When Dean's burning tongue probed against Castiel's lips they fell open with an easy gasp, admitting Dean and following his intrusion with a soft hum of delight. Nothing was heated; the passion that grew quickly between them didn't have a destination, just the relief of long-needed expression.

His eyes having fluttered automatically shut at the beginning as their lips first innocently pressed, Castiel eased them back open to see Dean still so close he could count the shades of green in his eyes. He'd never been this close, never been allowed. An airy chuckle fell from Castiel's lips and he raised his arms to wrap around Dean's neck, not wanting him even an inch further away.

Dean's smile did overwhelming things to his eyes from so close. Castiel had seen Dean happy, in the odd moments in their lives where nothing was chasing them or looming over them, but he'd never seen him look like that.

“Wow, Cas.” Dean laughed quietly, without any force behind it. The pinkness in his cheeks hadn't abated with the closeness; if anything it was worse.

“Wow indeed,” Castiel agreed, deciding he wasn't quite done and closing the tiny gap between them once more, wanting to taste and memorize every last part of Dean, in exactly this moment, in case the spell broke when he moved.

But it didn't. Dean was still smiling, and after only a few seconds of gazing at him in wonder, Dean came right back for more.

They finally separated after a few minutes, though their arms remained looped around each other and their knees tangled on the floor. The look they were sharing seemed to be one of disbelief on both sides. They both seemed to realize it at the same time, grins and low chuckles overtaking them.

Dean reached up, resuming his gentle, warming rubbing of Castiel's back and arms as he said, “When I was running in from the car, I noticed there was an area at the side of the cabin sheltered by those big trees… there's no snow and there's a little fire pit and some logs to sit on. If you're feeling up to it.”

Castiel smiled, reaching up to pull the blanket up from where it had slipped around his elbows while they kissed. “A fire outside sounds nice. Warm. We can eat the food that you packed,” he suggested.

 

***

 

Dean pulled the cabin door behind him, easing it shut as much as he could given the busted lock. He moved around to the side of the building, stopping to watch for just a moment. He'd asked Cas to get the fire lit, resisting everything in him that insisted the ex-angel would need help. And there it was, a neat little bonfire crackling happily already without any assistance. Dean smiled to himself and moved over to where Cas had positioned one of the large logs, as close to the flame as was comfortable.

“Here you go,” Dean murmured, bending down to pass the fresh, hot tea he'd made to Cas before he sat himself next to him on the log.

“Thank you,” Cas answered warmly, shifting to the side. After blowing the heat from the top of the steaming mug, Cas took a few big gulps, smiling at the warmth, before setting it aside.

Hesitantly, Cas opened up the blanket that surrounded him, offering to admit Dean into the cozy interior with him.

“You got wet in the creek, too,” Cas pointed out. “You should stay warm.”

The simple gesture made Dean's heart skip in his chest, causing a surging feeling beneath his ribs. Moving closer, Dean took the blanket over his own arm and pulled Cas toward him, settling him into his side, the blanket shielding them both from the crisp evening air.

Once they were comfortable, Dean gave Cas a teasing wink. “If you wanted an excuse to cuddle, you could have just said so.”

There was a brief moment where they both blushed a little, before Cas elbowed Dean very softly in the ribs.

“Be glad you’re injured, so I can’t do any more than that,” Cas grumbled gently, snuggling into the blanket.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They sat in silence for a minute, just enjoying the closeness. Then Dean, almost physically unable to help himself, reached over and pressed his lips to Cas's forehead, holding them there for a long moment.

Cas hummed contentedly at the affection. Leaning easily into Dean, he turned his eyes to the flames that danced a few feet away, regarding them almost proudly.

“In case I wasn't clear before, Dean,” Cas said as he flicked his eyes back to Dean after a few minutes, “I don't want to go anywhere. I have a very good reason to stay. Unless—” he stopped short, embarrassment suddenly flooding him. “I mean, I don't know what you want. I shouldn't assume. I know that for humans kissing someone isn't always—”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, laughing and wrapping his arm tighter around his shoulders before he could get worked up. “Stop. Please stay?” he asked, ducking down an inch to catch Castiel's eyes. “With me. Like this.” Dean gestured between the two of them, indicating their closeness. “If you want that too.”

Castiel nodded, nuzzling his face into Dean's neck with a smile of disbelief. “Of course I do,” he replied. “I just never dreamed that you'd see me as more than a friend. I hoped, when I became human, that maybe things could change.” He paused to shake his head, laughing. “But then I was the clumsiest, least helpful human alive and I thought you'd want me even less.”

Dean grinned down into Cas's hair and whispered, “Can you keep a secret, Cas?” He didn't wait for a response, bringing his other arm around to tug the ex-angel in tighter towards him. “I have to take care of you while I get the chance, because usually it's you being an intimidating badass and looking out for me,” he admitted, before kissing down into the mess of dark, wild hair. “Besides, don't tell anyone, but I think it's kinda cute you're so clumsy.”

Cas glared up at him from beneath his brows. “Cute?”

“Positively adorable,” Dean teased.

Cas huffed, but it was an affectionate smile that settled onto his face as he relaxed back against Dean, stretching his legs out toward the fire.

Dean’s fingers carded idly through Cas's hair and they watched the bonfire as night fell. Perhaps being a klutz wasn't the worst thing that could happen to an Angel of the Lord, after all.

 

 

**~The End~**

**(Or, more accurately, the beginning.)**


End file.
